Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts (41 page)

As Thren crawled out behind him, Haern quickly spun to survey his surroundings. In all directions from the Stronghold, he saw men in armor carrying torches, searching in parties of two.

“To the wheat fields,” Thren said in a hushed voice as he kicked the door shut to the secret entrance, not bothering to hide it. They sprinted, and when they were halfway there, Haern saw the stalks split and Delysia slip out, urging him onward with a hand. Seeing her there, unharmed, flooded him with relief. The relief did not last long, for his instincts cried out warning, and from the corner of his right eye, he saw a single paladin bedecked in the dark armor of his order riding toward them on a black steed.

No torch,
thought Haern, diving out of the way.
Sneaky bastard.

The dark paladin’s sword cleaved where he’d been, the fire around the blade darker than the night itself. Instead of trying to gain distance, Haern flung himself into the fight, knowing he had to strike immediately before the paladin could ride away. His swords cut into the side of the mount, but not enough to score a fatal hit. The man rode on, his sword blocking an attempted thrust from Thren on the other side. The dark paladin looped around, and he cried out warnings to the rest.

“Here!” he shouted, lifting his enormous two-handed sword into the air. “Over here, my brethren!”

“Shit,” muttered Thren.

The dark paladin rode toward them, blade still raised, but before coming into range, he suddenly pulled back on the reins.

“You’ll suffer for such insolence,” said the paladin, and he held his sword in one hand, the other balling into a fist. Violet flame leaked through his fingers, and then the man thrust it outward. Haern crossed his swords and ducked his head, unable to dodge in time. Fire roared, bursting forth in a tremendous cone from the paladin’s palm. Turning his face, Haern shifted in a desperate hope to absorb the brunt of it against his side, but before it could burn him, he saw movement, a flash of light.

Delysia stood between him and the dark paladin, hands clasped, red hair fluttering in a silent breeze that swirled about her from all directions. The fire could not touch her, could not even withstand being in her presence. As the dark paladin recoiled with surprise, she reached out with a glowing hand.

“The flames are yours,” she said. “Take them.”

And then the fire erupted back to life, only this time engulfing the paladin and his horse, consuming them. He opened his mouth in a final, horrific scream matched only by the dying cries of his mount. After but a second, they were both silenced, the heat so intense, the dark paladin was ash and bone before his melting armor hit the ground, landing amid a cloud of all he had once been.

“Come on,” Delysia said, turning and offering her hand. Haern took it, and together they fled into the wheat fields, Thren at their heels, as dozens of horses from the Stronghold thundered in chase.

They said nothing as they ran, all concentration on putting one foot in front of the other. Haern felt the toll of his imprisonment wearing on him, his heart pounding and his lungs gasping for each breath. He did everything he knew to ignore the pain, but it didn’t take long until Delysia was tugging on his arm to keep him moving. With how tall and tight the wheat grew, he could only see Thren on occasion, trailing alongside them, his head constantly on a swivel. The horses were spreading out, and it’d only be a matter of time before they were spotted.

“Delysia,” Haern said, his hand slipping free from hers. Noticing, she stopped, rushed back to him. A glowing hand touched his chest as her body pressed against his.

“Stay strong,” she said, and he felt the exhaustion in his body fade as if it had never been. On impulse, he kissed her forehead, then grabbed her hand.

“Stay with me,” he said, and they resumed their run, this time with him in the lead. To their right, a paladin burst through the wheat, and Haern dropped to the ground as the horse passed on by. Too close, he knew. Just a matter of time, but they had to run, had to keep gaining distance. Every second that passed, more of the paladins were waking up, throwing on their armor, grabbing their weapons, and rushing out into the night to join the chase. Distance was their friend, delay their enemy.

Another rode on to their left, and when he let out a cry, Haern knew they’d been spotted. To confirm, Thren rejoined their side, shouting orders.

“Surprise is our only hope!” he shouted. “Crouch low, and cut them down as they ride by!”

Between the darkness and the wheat, any rider would have difficulty spotting them, and Haern knew his father was right. In open battle against an armored, horsed rider? Hopeless. But cutting them down as they closed about, keeping them off-balance and confused? Haern dropped to his knees, willing himself into becoming a specter of the fields, a coiled animal ready to strike. At his side, his father did the same as Delysia ducked low, watching intently.

The rider who had first spotted them came back around, still calling for his allies. He rode mere feet to their left, and as he passed, Thren lashed out, thrusting a short sword beneath the man’s plate mail and into his ribs. As the man screamed, Thren pulled the blade free and then smacked the horse with the flat edge, sending it bolting away.

Two more came riding in from the other direction, and Haern timed their arrival. Their aim was off, the two clearly not yet having located them, so he knew he’d have his chance. Running while crouched, he shifted aside at the last second, both swords slicing into the legs of the nearest mount. It let out a horrible noise as it crumpled, trapping the rider beneath it as it continued to let out pained screams. Before the other paladin could stop, Haern rushed around to the other side, jammed a blade into the throat of the trapped man, and then sprinted back toward Delysia and Thren. As he did, he saw another paladin veer away, having just barely avoided an ambush by his father.

“It’s not enough,” Thren said as he joined his side.

“Look,” Delysia said, pointing. The paladins had grouped together, nine of them at least, and they circled around them on their horses. They did not close in nor attempt to find them within the vicinity. Haern frowned, none too pleased with the strategy, and then the largest of the riders curled in, riding in a circle just barely within the others. From the feet of his midnight-black mount burst flames, as if its hooves were the center of a bonfire. Around and around it looped as Haern, Thren, and Delysia pressed against each other, back-to-back. The fire grew, its center a deep purple, its outer reaches darker than the night itself.

“Stay with me!” Delysia cried as the fire roared to life, rolling toward them from all sides. The priestess’s hands lifted above her head, locked together in prayer as the wheat blackened and collapsed into ash from the fire’s passing. Just before they themselves were consumed, Delysia let out a cry, flinging down her arms and grabbing Haern and Thren by the shoulders. He felt a tingling, and then the fire passed over him. His skin was not burned, nor did he feel its heat, yet beneath his feet, ash gathered from the charred wheat.

The spell ended, and circling them were the nine dark paladins. Their cover was gone, as was any surprise, any hiding. Now in the open, Haern lifted his sabers and stood protectively before Delysia.

“Go down fighting,” he said. “You don’t want to be taken to their dungeons.”

“Speak for yourself,” Thren said. “The only ones dying this night are our enemies.”

The nine dismounted, drawing weapons wreathed in black flame. They stayed close, steadily closing the gap to prevent any hope of them punching through. Among themselves, the paladins gave quick orders, keeping their approach controlled, their eventual assault in perfect unison.

“Listen to me,” Thren said, tilting his head toward them, yet keeping his eyes on the dark paladins before him. “If we’re to live, you have to hold nothing back. Every bit of your power, every bit of your rage, it must be let free. Unleash death upon them, or we die ourselves.”

“I know how to fight,” Haern growled.

Thren’s eyes flicked to Delysia.

“My words were for her.”

Tighter and tighter the circle closed, a wall of swords, axes, and plate mail.

“Our lives or theirs, priestess,” Thren whispered. “Make your choice.”

With a unified cry, the dark paladins rushed in, and Haern took Thren’s advice to heart. Hold nothing back. He knew how to become that animal. He knew how to unleash that power. Harnessing every bit of his anger, frustration, and doubt from his imprisonment, he lunged toward the closest paladins, charging just as they themselves issued the orders to attack. With his back to her, he did not see the brilliant flash of light Delysia cast, but he saw its flare in the eyes of his foes, saw them cry out, blinded. Two at once he fought, slipping through their frantic defenses, twisting his body to avoid being chopped in half from the right shoulder down. His saber found the throat of one, then both blades crashed into the sword of another, batting it three times so quickly, it sounded like a single ring.

And then he was away, racing toward the other side of the circle, crashing right alongside his father into a group of three. Side by side they fought, blades dancing, perfect mirrors of the other. Thren slammed the sword of one out of position, screaming in pain from the fire that encased the weapon, and then Haern plunged a saber through the armpit of the man. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, but the man could press no further. Behind him, Delysia had cast another flare of light, knocking back the other half of the group, but she was exposed and Haern would not let them overwhelm her.

Back to the other side he rushed, and his father joined him. He leaped past Delysia, dropping into a roll to duck beneath the swing of an ax, then coming about to stab at the man’s back. He turned to block it, and then Thren slammed into him, smashing him to the ground with both short swords puncturing his face. Haern rushed left, Thren right, each engaging another paladin while they still had some measure of surprise. Their foes held strong, falling back while expertly positioning their blades. Each time their swords made contact with that black fire, Haern felt an ache growing in his hands and at the center of his chest, an ache that would soon leave him in agony from the unholy powers they wielded.

“Us or them!” Thren screamed, suddenly disengaging. He rolled underneath a swing, then kicked into the air so he could intercept two men rushing toward where Delysia stood. “There’s no other choice!”

Haern spun, using his cloak to disguise his movements before he too retreated, back to his father’s side. The older man was struggling to keep the two at bay, most of his attacks feints to keep the paladins on edge and prevent them from advancing. Haern had a split second to see the pattern his father used, then joined him, following up a feint with a stab of his own. The dark paladin, having also sensed the pattern and therefore ignoring the feint, was unable to position his blade in time to avoid Haern’s attack. His saber cut across the man’s face, splashing blood through the air as the steel tip scraped against teeth. A kick sent him staggering away, but as always, another stepped up to replace him. The newcomer’s thrust might have impaled Haern, but Delysia was there, unleashing an invisible wall of force that sent the man rolling away as if struck in the chest by a boulder.

Every nerve on fire, every reflex ever drilled into him over a lifetime of training pushed to its limits, Haern twisted and turned, blocking one attack, thrusting for another, only to pull away to avoid having his head cut clean off his shoulders. In the back of his mind, he heard a ringing, heard his father screaming.

“Will you let us die, Delysia? Will you let us all die? Let go, damn it,
let go!
”

Too many, they were just too many, too strong, too skilled. Haern unleashed a flurry of attacks on one opponent, then spun right to block the killing thrust of another. One saber each battling a different opponent, he blocked, parried, and waited for one of their burning blades to finally make it through and end it all.

And then Delysia screamed.

It was an unearthly cry, thunderous in power, terrifying in its rage. A white mist rolled in all directions, followed by a shock wave that knocked Haern to his knees. The dark paladins staggered backward, and above Haern’s head, a golden blade shimmered into existence, then flew through the air. It cut two at once, slicing them cleanly in half so that they fell in pieces, blood and innards spilling out upon the blasted circle of ash that was their battlefield. A third moved to strike, but then he screamed as his body turned rigid. His mouth opened, and it seemed light shone from his throat and eyes, a light that burned like the sun itself. When he dropped, his eyes were blackened holes, his mouth hanging open to release a trail of white mist that floated to the sky like smoke.

Haern spun, awestruck by what he saw. Delysia hovered a foot above the ground, the irises of her eyes shining a vivid gold. Light lashed off her hands as she turned to the next paladin, cutting like blades through his armor. When the man turned to flee, she crossed her wrists and then flung them downward. Another wave of light, this time shaped like an X, flew through him, cutting into his back. When it hit, the man screamed, then fell to his stomach and did not move.

The last survivors, two dark paladins with great axes wreathed in flame, attempted to assault her at once. Haern thought Thren might try to stop them, but he was nowhere to be found. There was only Delysia, and at their approach, she lifted a single hand. Light grew in her palm, pulsing with silver and gold, and then it shot out in a solid beam that slammed into the first. The man’s ax shattered, his armor crunched inward, and then he flew, ribs broken, blood spewing from his mouth. The other swung, but she stepped in, catching his wrist and shoving her other hand against his face.

“Damn you,” she whispered, and it seemed those words traveled for miles. The man’s body snapped erect, every muscle tight as he screamed and screamed. When Delysia stepped back, releasing his face, it seemed every inch of his flesh became light. It burned, dissolving, becoming a white mist that floated into the air. As his armor hit the ground, only bones remained within, clattering as they hit the ash beneath.